Excruciating
by hoping2improve
Summary: What's really going on between Bellatrix Lestrange and Hermione Granger in the Malfoy house? Things more nefarious than her friends can ever know, and darker than the young woman can ever admit. Femslash. Bellatrix/Hermione.


**Title: **Excruciating

**Author: **Hoping2improve

**Rating: **T

**Fandom: **Harry Potter

**Pairing: **Bellatrix/Hermione

**Author's Note: **This was written at the request of a very close friend. It's a present. Love you, dear! 3 I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for views - feedback is greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading!

* * *

The younger woman was tied to a chair, her captor pacing in front of her. Her dark, matted hair couldn't conceal the malice in her gaze. A dark wand tip was placed at Hermione's throat, the feared word whispered, and a sharp, twisting, ripping began at its end. All over her body the torture was drawn, blood running in both rivers and rivulets, staining her school robes beyond recognition, her screams drowning out all thoughts of her friends locked in the dungeon below as she screamed for Ron.

Bellatrix smiled and whispered in her ear, "All to myself, love..."

She trembled and whimpered, albeit not for long. Bellatrix's tongue found its way into her resisting mouth, and she found herself, much to her disgust, complying. Strong, brutal hands roamed her bloody clothes, removing them with slow purpose. Hermione, ever practical, tried her best to think of a way out of the situation, but as the moist appendage moved to her breast instead, she found herself lost. The madwoman raked her claws along her captive's back and thrust the fingers of her free hand into the wounds she had made. The shriek thrilled her.

Hermione felt the unwanted hands going unwanted places, doing unwanted things; she threw herself bodily away. Immediately, she was picked up with a flick of the wrist and slammed into the wall, at the former prisoner's face height. She couldn't move to save her life, and as she threatened to bleed to death in the Malfoy home, she wanted nothing more than to, for this once, perform Arvada Kadarva, and kill the woman who taunted and hunted her so.

Now completely immobile, she saw clearly the lust hidden in the malice. She wondered just how long Lestrange had thought about this.

It had been a very long time indeed.

"_Mudblood_," the older woman hissed, and struck her.

Her long, jagged nails left stripes, and Hermione finally smiled, mocking her.

"Mudblood, hm? Then what does that make you...you _bitch_? You fawn over Voldemort, and he won't so much as **look** at you! If I didn't know better, I'd say he thought you were puke."

Crucio met her again in response, this time on her arm, carving out, with painful, tortorous precision, the hateful insult. The dark mistress sneered, saying that, "_No one will ever miss a _slut_, much less if she happens to be a Mudblood..._"

Lips found their mark and made the girl writhe in more than just pain. Disturbingly, there was no blood.

Through a haze, she prayed it wouldn't leave a scar.

Bellatrix, now satisfied with her gruesome handiwork, threw the girl to the floor and pinned her there. She exercised her full control, all manner of devious spells making the girl's face contort. Tortured screams were as good as those of pleasure to the woman, nay, better. As the cries continued, she found herself soaring. Now, to do the same to the girl, make her taste what she denied…

Grabbing fistfuls of hair, she forced the girl to look her in the eyes. She relished the fear and confusion she saw there. She had once felt that way herself - she blamed it on their disturbingly strict mother, but she knew that wasn't really it. It was simply the way she was... And why try to change if those changes robbed one of her pleasures?

With her wand, she moved Hermione like a puppet, making her remove her tattered black clothing. The cool air of the home, permeated with the Dark Lord's sinister prescence, made her exposed skin tingle and sing. She loved it.

Like a marionette, Hermione's hands and mouth were soon occupied entirely with the other woman, although she threatened to lapse into unconsciousness. She tried to distract herself from what she was doing, and that it, punctuated by periods of torture, was driving her to ecstasy.

Bellatrix, happily, was teasing and playing with her free hand, causing the mudblood's breathing to quicken, her face to blanche, her legs to grow weak. Pain converted itself to pleasure, and heat radiated from her – shame, disgust, and undeniable pleasure colored her cheeks. With a cruel kick, she felt the mistress go into palsy.

Soon after, much to her shame, she was to follow, screaming and protesting all the way, her captor's tongue working its perversity, and wand doing the same. Ron would have been sickened to know just why she was screaming.

After she had been carefully dressed – blessed night having finally taken over – her friends burst into the room and made their escape.

She didn't know how lucky she was that they hadn't come earlier – were that the case, they might have…. Well, she didn't want to think about that. But in her dreams, long after the woman's death, and her children were sent off to Hogwarts to begin adventures of their own, did that night still linger, dark and unsettling and oh so very tempting…

Time, as with most things, had softened the memory, and turned it into a thing of wildest fantasy. The "mudblood" on her arm, so cruelly and deliciously carved, had remained.

-FERTIG-


End file.
